


Wolf in Sheep's Pajamas

by talefeathers



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Blood, Drabble, Gen, Mind Control, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2019-10-04 08:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: Dick decides to drop by the Batcave and is greeted by a horrifying scene.





	Wolf in Sheep's Pajamas

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Who the hell did this to you?" for Nightwing and a character of your choice

Dick hadn’t meant for dropping by the cave unannounced to become a habit after he’d moved into his own place. It was just that ever since Bruce had told him, in no uncertain terms, not to make a habit of it, swinging down through the sky entrance had only become harder to resist.

“Anybody home?” Dick called, launching himself from one familiar handhold to the next on his way to the central dais. He had spent far more time bouncing off these walls than he had soaring from the trapeze in the circus, but only now that he lived across the bay in Blüdhaven did he fully appreciate his connection to this place. It was his home, every inch of it, in a way that nowhere else ever would be.

He stuck his landing in front of the bat-computer’s huge monitors with a flourish and a smile. 

“Grayson gets the gold!” he said, more to himself than anyone that might have been watching. Then he relaxed his posture and moved toward the computer to check the manor’s security monitors for signs of life.

His heart began to sink when each screen revealed more emptiness. It was odd for Alfred to be out at this time of night, but not unheard of; maybe Bruce had needed a diversion or something on tonight’s hunt. Still, Dick had been looking forward to shooting the breeze.

He had almost resolved to head back out when something on one of the hallway monitors caught his eye. He expanded it so that it filled one of the bat-computer’s massive screens, and then panic jolted through his heart.

Yes, that was blood creeping along the wooden floor. A lot of blood.

His legs were moving before he could have another thought.

“Alfred?” he shouted, propelled by muscle memory and fear. A door, a hallway, another door. “Alfred!”

He saw the old butler before he heard him, crumpled against the far wall of the hallway outside his quarters, one arm pressed around his crimson-stained stomach.

“Master Dick,” Alfred rasped, reaching a shaking arm. “Master Dick, you must alert – the others, you must –”

“Who the hell did this to you?” Dick demanded, taking Alfred’s outstretched hand.

Alfred didn’t answer; his eyes had shot wide, staring at something over Dick’s shoulder. Dick turned.

“You shouldn’t be here,” growled Bruce Wayne, knife in hand, pale blue pajamas drenched with blood.

All the air had left Dick’s lungs, but he steeled himself. If this was really Bruce, he couldn’t afford to yield an inch to emotion.

“I’m pesky like that,” he replied. Then he drew his escrima without flourish and threw himself into the fight of his life.


End file.
